


Movie Night

by jujubiest



Category: Glee
Genre: Cheating, Friendship/Love, M/M, Summer, horror movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The McKinley High Rainbow Brigade, as Santana calls it - plus Finn and Rachel - gather at Kurt's house every Saturday night to watch scary movies. Kurt HATES scary movies, but finds Dave's shoulder quite useful as an eye-shield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seventh Wheel

 

It's a typical Saturday night at the Hummel-Hudson house. Burt and Carole are out for a date night, and the darkened living room is full of teenagers. Santana and Brittany have taken over Burt's favorite chair. Dave is sitting in the middle of the couch, sandwiched between Kurt and Finn. Rachel and Blaine are both sitting cross-legged on the floor, each with their head in their significant other's lap. Blaine's let the gel go this summer, and Kurt is taking every opportunity to run his hands through the silky, ridiculously curly mess that is his boyfriend's hair unbound. That freaky vampire man is about to come on and introduce tonight's movie, and Dave is staring determinedly at the screen, trying as always to ignore the fact that he's sitting next to Kurt, because Kurt is so obviously absorbed in Blaine. He's made himself stop letting that hurt him-mostly-because he knows Kurt really does like him, even if it's only as a friend.

His task becomes infinitely more difficult, however, when Svenboolie appears on the screen and Kurt squeaks and presses his face into Dave's shoulder.

"Viewers," Svenboolie says, in his highly suspect Transylvanian accent, "...brace yourselves for...Terror!"

"God, I will never stop hating that part!" Kurt mumbles against the skin of Dave's upper arm, and some disconnected part of Dave's brain thanks everything he can think of that he wore short sleeves, because he can feel Kurt's lips brushing feather-light against the bare skin of his arm, and it feels _glorious_. He completely misses the fact that Finn has inexplicably mirrored Kurt and buried his face in Dave's other shoulder.

"You're adorable," Blaine says fondly, reaching back to wrap a hand around the back of Kurt's knee and lean his head against the side of Kurt's calf. The gesture is so intimate, yet so casual, and suddenly Kurt seems to realize that he's sharing such a gesture with one too many people at the moment. He sits up abruptly. Dave misses the tickling of Kurt's lips against his arm immediately, and hates Blaine a little in spite of himself.

Except he doesn't, not really. Almost against his will, he's gotten to know Blaine over the last several weeks. He actually likes the guy okay, and they have way more in common than he would have thought. Blaine seems to understand, even more than Kurt if that's possible, exactly what Dave was feeling last spring. He also knows a hell of a lot more than Kurt does about football.

That doesn't stop the twinge in Dave's gut-muted, but still  _just_  there-whenever he takes in the million tiny ways that Blaine finds to touch Kurt, and that Kurt finds to touch Blaine. He wonders if either of them really appreciates the perfect comfort in having another human being you can reach out and physically connect yourself to at any moment, for any reason or none. He wonders if Blaine, specifically, appreciates how lucky he is to be able to reach out and press fingers to pale, soft skin at any moment. He wonders if he would ever stop appreciating that if he had it every day. He doubts it.

Dave doesn't volunteer contact with Kurt. They touch accidentally-sitting on the couch like this, because Kurt always seems to end up next to him-and Kurt occasionally initiates a hug or a brief squeeze of their hands, but Dave doesn't reach for those things himself, not anymore. Somewhere between Blaine becoming Dave's friend and Dave realizing that he still had a lot of unresolved attraction to Blaine's _boyfriend_ , it just stopped feeling okay to make those moves, however little intention he put behind them. They almost hurt, too, those brief moments of contact, because they were such an excruciatingly small taste of what he wants, and a reminder that he can't have it.

He doesn't ask Kurt to stop offering them, though. He allows himself those few guilty seconds of achy bliss, because he can't bear the thought of the awkward-or worse, hurt-look that might cross Kurt's face if he asked him to stop touching him, and told him why. He can't bear the idea of Blaine looking at him with suspicion instead of the small understanding they've come to. He also doesn't think he could stomach Finn's protective big-brother glares.

The movie tonight is  _Psycho_ , one of Dave's favorites. He's never found the film itself particularly scary, but he always locks the bathroom door when he takes a shower for about a week after watching it. He likes that about it, that it can creep into your head and stick with you that long, scaring you long after the credits have rolled by and you're off doing something as routine as taking a shower the next morning.

"Wait, is she seriously going to stop at that creepy little hotel? Oh my God."

Dave can't help but grin. One of his favorite parts of movie night is seeing how various people react to the films. Santana surprises him the least; her commentary on film is like her commentary on everything else: lewd, sarcastic, and yet incredibly accurate. He stopped trying to make sense of Brittany's outer monologue long ago, but he's seriously considered recording her statements for posterity, just in case she turns out to be some kind of oracle that speaks the future in riddles or something. Rachel mostly squeals and hides her face in Finn's lap, and Blaine pats her hand comfortingly while keeping up a sporadic commentary. He's like an encyclopedia of random movie trivia, and honestly Dave would find it annoying if it weren't so perfectly  _Blaine._

"Did you know this was the first movie to ever show a toilet onscreen? It was considered obscene in the 60s. Hitchcock would often make ridiculous requests that he thought the studio heads would refuse in order to get other things past their censorship rules."

"Fascinating, Blaine," Kurt says with just the slightest trace of sarcasm. That little trace is pretty much neutralized by the softness of Kurt's eyes as he stares down at the top of Blaine's curly head, and the slow, tender movements of his fingers through those curls. Dave fixates on the screen as hard as possible, because he's somehow never noticed before, but Kurt's hands have surprisingly broad palms and strong, sure fingers. He doesn't need to notice Kurt's hands.

A few minutes later he can't help it, though, because Kurt has practically wrapped himself around one of Dave's arms, and those strong, pale hands are squeezing him until it hurts, fingers digging into his bicep and face somehow pressed between Dave's shoulder and the back of the couch. On the floor, Blaine is completely unfazed as he comforts a shrieking Rachel. Santana and Brittany are just watching the movie, Brittany holding Santana rather tightly. Finn...has also wrapped himself around Dave's other arm. Dave spares him a very confused look before his attention zeroes back in on the fact that Kurt is actually holding onto him.

"Hey K," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth, "You okay?"

"Fine," Kurt spits through gritted teeth. "I just...tell me when it's over, okay? I don't know why I let you people talk me into watching these horrible movies."

Dave can't suppress a chuckle, and is rewarded with a one-eyed glare before Kurt buries his face again. He tries not to overthink it or enjoy it too much- _Blaine is your friend, Blaine is a good guy, Kurt and Blaine love each other_ -but it's difficult not to enjoy the boy of your dreams curling himself around you for protection from the big bad psycho killer on the screen. When Kurt finally releases him a few minutes later, Dave's arm tingles slightly with the leftover warmth. Finn doesn't resurface, just keeps muttering something about "stupid vampires...stupid movie...nightmares for a week."

Dave isn't sure himself how they started this tradition, or how he came to be included in it. He never would have anticipated being allowed to visit Kurt's house, but for some reason he kept finding himself back there, ever since the start of summer. Usually it was Finn inviting him over to hang out, but even so he spent his fair share of time just sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee-black, one teaspoon of sugar-and talking to Kurt. He very seldom saw Burt or Carole, who were both incredibly busy with work during the week and took Saturday nights to catch up on spending time together. Burt had taken the time to sit him down right from the get-go, however, and make it very clear exactly where he stood.

"What you did to Kurt was inexcusable, Dave," he said sternly. "He is my son, he's the most important person in the world to me, and you caused him a lot of pain."

"I know, sir," Dave had said, staring at the tabletop and feeling the guilt well up so strong and fresh he could almost taste it. "I don't deserve a friend as amazing as Kurt. Even when I was hurting him...he protected me."

That's when Burt surprised him.

"Yeah, kid, I know. There aren't a lot of people in this world who deserve a friend as amazing as Kurt. Like I said, what you did to him was inexcusable. But what your so-called friends did to you was inexcusable, too. Nobody ought to have to feel like you must've felt. What you went through...that used to be one of my worst fears for my son. I just want you to know you got people who care about you, Dave. The Hummels are a package deal; you hurt one of us, you hurt all of us. But one of us takes you in, you get the rest of us, too. Understand?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Hummel," Dave had said. It was all he _could_ say; his mind had been wiped blank by surprise and then sideswiped by an unexpected wave of emotion that he tried desperately not to show. He didn't think Burt Hummel would fault him for crying, but it was still the last thing he wanted to do right then.

Dave is pulled abruptly out of his reverie by a nudge at his right shoulder. He cocks his head toward Kurt.

"Yeah?"

"I really, really hate this movie," Kurt whispers. "They're going to go to that creepy motel and get picked off one by one by that weird guy's crazy mother and I do  _not_  know why I let you talk me into watching these things!"

"Hey, I didn't pick the movie," Dave defends himself. "This was all Blaine's idea."

"I  _know_ ," Kurt says, shoving his boyfriend's back gently with his knee. "He picked it and _you_  convinced me it wouldn't be that bad. 'It's from the sixties, Kurt,'" he imitates Dave's voice. "'It's not even that scary. C'mon, it's a classic, you  _have_  to see it.'"

"Your bear cub impressions are scarily accurate," Santana speaks up from the couch. Brittany has fallen asleep on her shoulder, and she's playing with the ends of her ponytail and ignoring the movie entirely in favor of grinning down at her girlfriend's sleeping face.

"Go back to lala land, 'Tana," Dave grumbles. She smirks at him, but doesn't say anything else. Blaine shushes them all.

"Guys, come on, you're killing the suspense."

"I thought the suspense was supposed to kill us."

"Shh!"

"Fine," Kurt grumbles. He pulls his legs up onto the couch, settling with his knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Blaine re-situates himself against the back of the couch, reaching up to pat Kurt's leg affectionately before returning his attention to the movie. Blaine absolutely hates it when people talk or don't pay attention during movies. Dave still remembers the almost comical look on his face when Kurt answered a text message during  _Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy._

When Sam and Lila arrive at the Bates Motel, Kurt curls himself into a tighter ball and leans into Dave again, hiding his face and making a distressed-sounding noise into Dave's arm. Finn does nearly the same on Dave's other side, but Dave is wholly focused on Kurt: more specifically, on the fact that Kurt is touching him _again_...is, in fact, pressed right up against his whole side, leaning into him heavily and breathing against his arm. Dave doesn't have room in his head to wonder why Finn is so terrified that he suddenly has no qualms about cuddling up to Dave like he's an oversized teddy bear.

Kurt is a warm, solid presence and a whiff of shampoo and cologne that Dave has to concentrate hard not to get lost in. His arm is already starting to lose feeling from the pressure of all Kurt's weight against it, so he does what seems, in the moment, to be the natural thing: he lifts his arm and puts it around Kurt's shoulders, pulling Kurt in and tucking him against Dave's side securely. He freezes as soon as he realizes what he's done, but Kurt's only response is to snuggle into Dave's side and take advantage of the new position to turn his face away and bury it in Dave's chest.

"That's better," he says quietly. "Thank you."

Dave just squeezes his shoulders and starts to mumble a 'you're welcome,' then thinks better of it and tries to inject some levity into the situation instead.

"Hey, protecting innocent young men from big bad monsters is what I do."

Kurt just huffs a laugh, warm breath against the fabric of Dave's shirt, and closes his eyes. He lets go of his knees with one arm and flicks Dave on the chest by way of a reprimand. When he relaxes his arm, it drapes across his own body so that just the tips of his fingers are brushing against Dave's thigh.

"Wake me up when this group exercise in masochism is over?"

"Sure, K," Dave says softly, his mouth a little dry and his throat entirely too wet. He realizes Kurt must be able to hear how fast his heart is beating, and tries not to dwell on it lest it make his heart beat even faster.

As Kurt falls asleep on him, he can't help but glance down at the top of the boy's head, a soft smile curving his lips. Kurt is warm against his side, warm where Dave's arm curves around his body, small spots of warmth where fingertips brush against his leg, so much casual, comforting human contact. He doesn't let himself think about Blaine sitting right below them, engrossed in the movie while Dave holds his sleeping boyfriend. He doesn't notice Santana shooting him a piercing glare across the room from above Brittany's head. He doesn't register that Rachel has crawled into Finn's lap, or that Finn is now using her hair as a shield from the world of psychosis and murder on screen. He doesn't let himself consider why Kurt is suddenly so cuddly, or wonder what people will think when the lights come on.

All he feels is Kurt in his arms, and given that, everything else is secondary.


	2. Next Saturday

 

Kurt knew that Blaine was away on vacation with his family. What he didn't know was that Finn had planned some kind of super-cheesy romantic date for Rachel, and that Santana and Brittany were stuck with Sue, facilitating cheer boot camp for next year's squad. Supposedly, it was in their contract. The point was, by all rights their usual movie night should have been cancelled, but no one had bothered to tell Kurt anything about that until the very last minute.

Apparently, no one had bothered to let Dave know, either.

There was an awkward moment when Dave showed up on the doorstep alone: tall broad-shouldered boy with his hands shoved in his pockets—looking lost without his Cheerio entourage—light green polo and dark wash jeans, golden skin, curly brown hair, and that little mole near his mouth. The reality of spending the evening alone with him struck Kurt hard, tied his stomach in knots…and for the life of him Kurt couldn't figure out  _why,_ because he hadn't felt uncomfortable around Dave in months, maybe even a little over a year. The last time he could clearly remember had been at junior prom, and to be honest, he highly suspected that his discomfort on that occasion had comparatively little to do with Dave.

They just stood there silently for a moment, Dave averting his eyes and ducking his head in that way Kurt had come to realize meant he was nervous. For whatever reason, that was all it took to snap him out of this…whatever it was.

"Well hello," he said cheerfully. "I guess it's just us tonight. Any chance I could talk you into foregoing the horror movie just this once?"

Dave's nervousness seemed to dissipate a little at seeing Kurt take the whole thing in stride. He kept his hands in his pockets, but grinned and shook his head at Kurt as he stepped into the house.

"No way, K. You're not getting off that easy. It's 70s slasher week!"

"Oh, joy," Kurt deadpanned as he shut the door. "Just what I always wanted: to watch a bunch of half-naked girls run around screaming before being hacked to pieces."

"On the plus side, the effects weren't too realistic in the 70s," Dave reassured him. "And the music is pretty awesome."

Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"We shall see." He headed toward the kitchen to grab some drinks and snacks, directing Dave to get the TV set up and pick whichever seat he wanted.

"Now that we don't have to fight Santana or accommodate Finn's need for excessive leg-stretching room," he explained. When he came into the living room a few minutes later, however, he was surprised to find that Dave had taken up his usual spot in the middle of the couch. At Kurt's raised eyebrow—questioning this time, and damned if he didn't have an eyebrow for every occasion—Dave shrugged.

"It has the best angle, and I'm used to it. I can move to the chair if you want…"

"No need for all that," Kurt said airily, depositing the popcorn, diet sodas, and a bucket of homemade trail mix on the coffee table before motioning for Dave to move down. "Just scoot down a little."

Dave obliged, scooting to the end of the couch. He figured Kurt was going to sit on the other end and put the popcorn between them, and his heart sank a little. He really did love scary movies, and hanging out with the rest of the group…but his favorite part of Saturday nights by far was the fact that he always seemed to end up sitting beside Kurt. Lately, Kurt had even taken to using him as a convenient combination of shield and pillow, depending on whether the movie was boring or terrifying ( _Hellraiser_  made him shriek; he fell asleep ten minutes into  _Children of the Corn_ ).

Kurt surprised him, however. He tended to do that. Instead of sitting on the other end, Kurt grabbed one of the decorative pillows—something he must have picked out, because Dave just didn't see anyone else in the house as the decorative pillow type—and plopped it in Dave's lap before stretching out with his feet toward the vacant end and his head resting across Dave's thighs. He looked up, grinning smugly.

"If you get to be predictable, I'm just going to be obnoxious and lazy."

Dave laughed, and then wondered if Kurt noticed how helpless a noise it was. Maybe not. He  _hoped_ not. He turned his attention to the television, trying to focus on Vampire Svenboolie's cheesy black-and-white opener instead of the warm weight of Kurt's head in his lap. This was made difficult by the fact that Kurt kept  _moving._ For the first five minutes, he twisted and turned and re-situated himself like a cat, trying to get comfortable and oblivious to the fact that Dave was more or less dying by inches underneath him.

Dave breathed a sigh of relief when Kurt finally settled down, lying on his stomach with arms folded on the pillow in Dave's lap and his head cradled on them, face turned to the TV. Dave tried to tune into the movie, but he could feel everything Kurt did, every little reaction: fingers clenching on the pillow whenever something even a little spooky happened. It made him feel kind of bad for not agreeing to let Kurt pick a movie. He knew Kurt didn't like scary movies; he normally just watched because everyone else out-voted him. He was wishing now he'd told Kurt to go ahead and pick whatever he wanted.

He sat there wishing it for about ten more minutes, berating himself silently and wondering if it would be lame to suggest that they put something else on instead, before a cleverly executed jump scare had Kurt squealing and twisting to bury his face in Dave's stomach, hands clutching at his shirt. Dave reacted automatically; it had become habit to him by this point. He wrapped his arms around Kurt, giving his shoulders a quick squeeze before loosening his grip, ready to let go the second Kurt gave any indication he was uncomfortable. He never did, but Dave wanted to be ready, just in case.

Kurt looked up, expressive blue-green eyes set wide in the pale, heart-shaped face, lips parted and cheeks stained with the faintest pink…hands still fisted in Dave's shirt. Dave swallowed hard.

"Um…d'you…d'you want to watch something else?"

Kurt didn't say anything. He couldn't. He gravitated toward the warmth and that moment of perfect, unexpected safety he felt when Dave's arms closed around him. Proud as he was of his acting skills, he didn't even bother trying to deceive himself: this wasn't the first time being held by Dave Karofsky had made his blood race and his skin tingle. It had become his guilty pleasure, the favorite part of Saturdays that he would never admit to. All those times they'd been sitting so close together, shrouded in darkness and masked by the noise of whatever movie was playing, Kurt had felt the electricity in every accidental touch, but had never acted on it. Something always held him back, something with bright golden eyes and impossibly curly black hair, someone that smiled at him like he hung the moon and loved and trusted him so completely that he never even considered being jealous of the easy physicality developing between his boyfriend and another guy. With Blaine sitting less than two feet away, the guilt that twisted Kurt's gut was more than enough to mask the butterflies that Dave sent fluttering there.

But now, in this moment, Kurt was lost and Blaine wasn't here to find him, and Dave…Dave was  _overpowering_. He filled Kurt's senses: the scent of clean, warm skin under soap and aftershave, planes of hard and soft muscle under his arms, surprisingly soft fabric clenched in his fists…hazel green eyes and that mole near his mouth again, like a homing beacon, and he just wanted to press his lips to it…

Kurt leaned up and in, hesitantly but with a clear purpose. His eyes couldn't decide whether to focus on Dave's own eyes or his lips, so they kept alternating between the two. They saw the former widen in surprise when it became apparent that Kurt wasn't going to stop coming closer, and then watched them flutter closed as he pressed a kiss to the latter.

It was soft, and wholly unfamiliar, but it was also bliss. Kurt had been kissed by Dave Karofsky once before, but it hadn't felt like this. Dave was kissing him back, but carefully, oh-so-gently, as if he was constructed of ash and could crumble at any moment. Kurt pressed in a little harder, released Dave's abused shirt to press his hands to his shoulders instead, before sliding them up the sides of his neck and finally cupping his face to hold Dave there with him, in the moment. He hadn't anticipated the half-choked moan such a simple motion would elicit from Dave, and so he had no way at all to know what it would do to him when he heard it.

Suddenly, Dave's soft kisses were not enough. Kurt pressed in harder, kissing more insistently and removing his hands from Dave's face to wrap both arms around his neck as tightly as he could. He had gone from laying down to being perched precariously on his knees in the little couch space between Dave's spread legs, and he wasn't exactly sure when it had happened. He just knew he wanted  _more_ , he wanted Dave to kiss him…

…to kiss him like he was a drowning man and Kurt was air.

Kurt pulled back with a gasp, un-wrapping his arms from around Dave's neck and standing up so quickly that he almost fell backwards. Like always, Dave moved to steady him automatically, with two gentle hands at his waist. Kurt felt the internal, silent tremors spread out from those hands until they were singing in his feet and rattling in his brain.

"Dave," he choked out. "I think…I think you should go."

"Kurt?" The bemused smile on Dave's face was falling steadily, replaced by a quick succession of confusion, realization, disappointment, and—worst of everything—hurt. He dropped his hands from Kurt's waist, and the other boy found that he missed them immediately. The space they had occupied felt too cold.

"I'm really sorry," Kurt said, unable to even look Dave in the eye. "This…I…"

"Blaine," Dave said, so gently. Kurt closed his eyes at the name, afraid to see Dave's face when he nodded his head, once. Dave was silent for so long that Kurt began to get nervous. He opened one eye slightly to find Dave had dropped his head into his hands, and Kurt's heart clenched painfully.

"Dave—"

He looked up, and his face was  _so_  understanding. Kurt felt sick.

"No, it's fine," Dave said, voice a little gruff but otherwise calm. "I get it. Blaine's my friend, too, and I don't…I wouldn't want to hurt him like that. Besides, you guys are so good together. You're practically _made_ for each other."

Kurt didn't know what to say. He wanted to rewind the evening somehow, stick to witty banter and snacks and poorly-produced horror movies…but he didn't know how. Dave stood up.

"I'm gonna get going, K," he said softly. "I'll seeya next Saturday?" He didn't wait for an answer, but he barely caught it anyway as he walked out the door.

"Yeah," Kurt said, sounding choked. "Next Saturday."


	3. Pod People

If anyone notices the sudden change in seating arrangements, no one says anything. Kurt sits where he has all summer long, but Dave now occupies the seat at the other end, forcing Finn to take his place. He watches the movie and tries not to pay any attention to the ache in his chest. He tells himself he doesn't miss having Kurt next to him, or the easy, natural manner they'd developed with one another. He tries not to think of pale hands clutching at his shirt or— _god_ —Kurt's lips pressed against his. He tries not to acknowledge the well of hurt and disappointment left behind in the wake of that bright, surging moment of joy.

Because he always knew Kurt was crazy in love with Blaine, so he had no reason to have gotten his hopes so high, right?

Kurt hides behind his hands for most of the movie, grouses more often than usual, and doesn't miss Dave's warm arm around his shoulders or the smell of his skin and the detergent he uses. Not even a little bit. He doesn't nearly forget twice and curl up with Finn, either. Nope. Didn't happen. He definitely didn't spend hours that Friday debating with himself over whether or not he should just let things go back to the way they were before.

Kurt Hummel does not think about kissing Dave Karofsky because he already has Blaine Anderson, and that should be enough for anyone, right? That should be the only person he wants to kiss.

Two Saturdays later, Finn sits in his old spot before Dave can take it, and Dave is left with two options: sit there or make a big deal about Finn switching seats. Not wanting to look like a jackass, Dave takes his old seat next to Kurt, and tries to act like it's not a big deal. He watches the movie determinedly and ignores his peripheral view of Kurt's fingers twirling through Blaine's hair. Until, of course, the pod people start taking over. Then, he feels Kurt stiffen next to him. There's a moment of shifting around, and Dave is absolutely sure Kurt just curled himself into a ball and is hiding his face in his knees. He chances a look.

He's right, and he turns his attention back to the movie quickly, hoping Kurt didn't notice that he looked.

Kurt doesn't…but then, Dave hasn't noticed Kurt stealing glances at him every Saturday night for the last two weeks, so he's due a freebie. Unfortunately, he can't just count his blessings and stick with that single glance; now that he's allowed himself one, he wants another. When he gets away with a second, he wants a third.

He gets five covert looks in before his luck runs out. On glance number six, he and Kurt look up at the same time, and their eyes catch and hold. Kurt's go wide. Dave fights the ridiculous impulse to squeeze his shut. They let themselves stare for a moment before Dave sighs.

"C'mere," he says quietly, lifting his arm and motioning for Kurt to scoot closer. Kurt regards him warily for a moment before he responds.

"I…don't think that's a good idea, David." His eyes are full of an apology, but Dave just drops his arm and turns his attention back to the movie, trying not to let the rejection show on his face. _How many times are you going to let Kurt turn you down before you learn your lesson and stop asking?_

Ten minutes later there are more pod people on the screen than humans, and Kurt just can't watch anymore. He finds himself leaning over and pressing his face into Dave's arm, feeling the muscles tense and then relax as Dave shifts automatically to make Kurt more comfortable. He fits there, pressed against David's side with one arm wrapped around his back and the other crossing his own body to slip across Kurt's stomach. Dave's hands rest, one over the other, on Kurt's right hip, large, heavy and warm through the thin fabric of Kurt's t-shirt. He's in that dangerous place again, so close to the line he doesn't want to cross again, between what's acceptable for two friends and what's a betrayal of his boyfriend. Maybe the way he feels means he's already crossed it just by sitting next to Dave. His conscience tells him to pull away, but everything else is screaming at him to stay right where he is, and so he listens to the louder voices and relaxes into Dave's embrace, sighing softly at the utter relief he feels as the texture and smell and sound—heartbeat thumping fast in his ear—of Dave surrounds him again.

Dave is tied in knots. He doesn't know what to think anymore, and the confusion hurts even more than an outright rejection. Thinking back, he begins to realize that he  _did_ have a reason to get his hopes up. Kurt gave him a hundred reasons, a hundred unnecessary touches and a month of Saturday nights spent curled up in his arms and seemingly content to stay there. His lips tingle with the memory of the biggest reason: Kurt had  _kissed_ him. Not just a light, friendly peck on the cheek, not something that could be even remotely construed as platonic. No, he remembers, flushing…he and Kurt had been making out two feet to the left of where he was currently sitting. Kurt had been pressed against him from lips to knees, practically sitting in his lap and holding onto him for dear life.

He's old enough to know that a kiss is not a promise, though. He understands that kissing him doesn't mean Kurt isn't still crazy about Blaine. These stolen moments of closeness are apparently all Kurt is willing to give, and God help him, Dave will take what he can get.

He props his cheek on the top of Kurt's head, pressing his face into the soft brown hair and inhaling deeply, tightening his arms just the littlest bit. Kurt shifts in his grasp, turning his head to take in Dave's expression. And for once, Dave looks at the boy he adores and doesn't try to keep those feelings off his face. He tells Kurt that he loves him with every line and curve and pore, and Kurt takes it in silently.

" _David, you just think that you love me, you don't really love me."_

Now Kurt realizes how presumptuous that sounds. How could he have just dismissed Dave's feelings like that? Especially after the week Dave had spent trying to make him feel special. But then, it hadn't really been about Dave, had it? Kurt remembers how uncomfortable he felt then, how he didn't know what to do or how to make himself clear without hurting Dave. He didn't want the other boy's feelings to be real because if they were, then Kurt's rejection would break his heart. He really didn't want to break anyone's heart, especially not—oddly enough—Dave Karofsky's. So Kurt told himself Dave's feelings were exaggerated, a misinterpretation of something else, and he tried to be as kind as possible. He thought he'd at least managed not to be cruel.

So what was he doing now? He wasn't making himself clear, and he was definitely hurting Dave, if the emotions flitting across his face— _hope longing disappointment pain resignation self-restraint pain_ heartbreak _pain pain pain_ —are any indication. But he doesn't know what to say, how to fix the mistakes he's made so far, so he just curls back into Dave's side and closes his eyes, snaking a hand out to grasp one of Dave's and holding tight, as if he can somehow help Dave hold everything together if they just stay close enough.

When the lights come on, Kurt has fallen asleep, and Dave has disentangled his hands from Kurt's and moved so it looks more like Kurt fell asleep on him and less like he fell asleep in his arms. Santana glares at him pointedly, but Blaine just quips that they look adorable together. Dave wonders how anyone can be so secure in what they have with another person. He doesn't know if it says more about Blaine, Kurt, or himself, but for the first time in a long time he's sincerely annoyed with Blaine Anderson. He reigns in his irritation and extracts himself from the couch as carefully as possible, leaving Kurt sleeping on his side with a blanket tucked around him.

He drives home deep in thought, not realizing until he's up in his room and in bed that he left his phone on silent. To his surprise, he has two missed calls, and one new text message.

_Sorry I fell asleep and didn't get to say goodnight. Can you come over early next Saturday? I need to talk to you. – Kurt_

He stares at the message for what feels like an eternity before he types out his response.

_It's fine, and sure. I'll see you then. – D._

He doesn't expect a reply back, so he's surprised when his phone lights up a moment later.

_Okay. Good. David…thanks for protecting me from the pod people. – Kurt_

Dave smiles at that.

_I don't know why you found it so scary. After all, you're practically dating a pod person. – D._

The response was fast in coming, and Dave had to stifle a laugh. He could practically hear the indignant tone of Kurt's voice.

_Blaine is not a pod person, he was in preparatory school. There's a significant difference. Anyway, a year in McKinley's glee club is enough to knock the conformity out of anyone. – Kurt_

_Yeah, but only the punishing heat of an Ohio summer could finally force him to lose the gel helmet. – D._

Dave suspected it was more the amount of teasing Blaine had endured about it from Santana and himself, but he wasn't going to point  _that_ out to Kurt. His teasing of Blaine had started out slightly bitter, but now it was mostly good-natured, and Blaine took it in stride. He seemed to always try to ignore or placate Finn for some reason, and he was somehow oblivious to the chopping block that was Santana Lopez's wit, but with Dave he played neither dumb nor nice. When it came to joking insults traded between friends, Blaine gave as good as he got. It was refreshing, really.

Dave's phone buzzed, and he groaned when he read Kurt's reply.

_David Allen Karofsky, I happen to know that until you were twelve years old, you gelled your hair into ridiculous spikes all over your head that made you look like a disgruntled porcupine. I have the yearbook photos to prove it. – Kurt_

_Fuck my life. You win. No more teasing Blaine about his hair. – D._

_Your language is atrocious, but I thought that might do the trick. – Kurt_

_Can I still ask him to let me use his eyebrows for a trigonometry project? – D._

_I'm going to pretend I didn't read that. Go to sleep. – Kurt_

_Can't sleep, pod people will get me. – D._

_Damn it Dave Karofsky, now I will never sleep again. – Kurt_

_My work here is done. Sweet dreams! ;D – D._

_I will get you for this. – Kurt_

Dave went to sleep with a smile on his face. Kurt went to sleep thinking of Dave's arms around his shoulders, and how he was going to handle what he had to do before next Saturday.


	4. Intermission

****_**Dave and Santana** _

"Okay, Grizzly McCasanova, you and I need to have a little chat."

Dave sighed and pushed his book aside, giving Santana the weary look of endurance that he reserved for her because  _fuck,_  no one else ever made him feel so exhausted just by talking. She must have come from a Cheerios workshop, because she was in her old uniform, and she looked both pissed off and tired. Dave had no idea how Sue Sylvester managed to get someone like Santana to spend the summer  _after_ she graduated from high school whipping her replacements into shape, but whatever methods she used clearly didn't come with mood boosters for afterward. He decided not to try her patience by pretending he didn't know what she was talking about.

"It's none of your business, 'Tana."

"The hell it isn't!" Apparently getting right to the point wasn't going to appease her.

"Blaine's my friend, too. So far he hasn't managed to catch onto the fact that his friend and his boyfriend are practically frotting  _literally_  behind his back every Saturday night, but even Blaine can't stay oblivious forever. You are  _not_ going to hurt him  _and_  ruin my favorite night of the week just so you can finally make out with Kurt for all of two weeks before the two of you go your separate ways."

Dave leaned forward, elbows propped on the table and hands supporting his chin. He tried to think of the most succinct way to address the utterly ludicrous misconception she seemed to be laboring under.

"Look, I'm not trying to break up Kurt and Blaine." All he got in response was a skeptical eyebrow. Dave threw up his hands.

"Oh, come  _on,_ 'Tana! Even if I were that big of an asshole, what kind of chance would I have? Kurt's made it pretty clear, more than once, that I'm not his type."

With that, Dave picked up his book and started to read again. He wanted this conversation to be  _over_. Santana, however, stayed right where she was. After a few minutes, he felt like he could _feel_ her eyes boring into him through the spine of his book.

"What?" He snapped, patience gone.

"You are actually as dumb as you look," she said, with a hint of genuine awe in her voice. "I don't know what Kurt's  _said_  to you, but I do know that actions speak way louder than words, and Kurt's actions say he's about an inch away from dumping his adorable mini-Ken-doll of a boyfriend. I don't relish the idea of spending what's left of my summer watching Blaine sob into his pillow—"

"'Tana, I'm telling you, there's  _no way_ —"

"—and I don't particularly want to pick up the pieces when college starts and Kurt leaves  _your_ ass here." Santana stood up to go, and fixed Dave with a look that was both piercing and a little pitying.

"I suggest you end this game of musical gays before you're left standing in the middle without a chair."

With that, she was gone. Dave sat at the table for a few minutes, book forgotten in his lap, before he pulled out his phone. He needed to talk to Kurt.

* * *

_**Kurt and Dave** _

Dave waffled back and forth for several minutes, scrolling to Kurt's name in his contacts, hovering over the call button, then tossing his phone onto the table and refusing to look at it before repeating the process.

He wasn't sure how to talk to Kurt about what Santana said. They were in the habit of occasionally texting back and forth, and sometimes they hung out in the middle of the week with the rest of the Rainbow Brigade, but they didn't really talk on the phone so much.

And that aside, how did one go about calling up a crush to say, "hey, I know we cuddle a lot, and we made out on your couch that one time, but you do know I'm not just pining after you or trying to steal you from your boyfriend, right?"

He sighed. There was definitely no good way to talk about this, and he'd really rather just ignore it.

The idea that Santana might say something to Kurt or Blaine wormed its way in a few failed attempts later, and that was what finally made him call. In keeping with Dave's usual luck, Kurt didn't answer. A few seconds later, however, he got a text message.

_Hey, I can't talk right now. Helping my dad out at the garage. – Kurt_

_Oh, okay. Can you call me later? – D._

_Sure. Is everything okay? – Kurt_

_I think so. Probably just Santana being Santana. – D._

_Hang on a minute. – Kurt_

A second later, his phone was ringing. It was Kurt. Dave took a deep breath before answering, attempting to calm himself down a bit.

"Hey," he said, sounding more or less normal. "Doesn't your dad need you?"

"It's fine. It's slow around here right now. What's going on with Santana?"

"Well, nothing's going on  _with_ Santana. It's just something she said a little while ago. I was trying to get some reading done and she…it's pretty stupid. Uh, actually, you know what? Never mind."

"Dave, what did she say?"

That was the dangerous thing about Kurt, more lethal than his coldest glare or his cutting wit: he had this way of speaking that made Dave want to say whatever was on his mind.

"She gave me this whole thing about Blaine and musical gays and college coming up, and told me basically to leave you two alone, like she thinks I'm actually  _trying_ to break you up or that I'd have a snowball's chance in Hell even if I  _was_ trying. It's because of the movie nights, she thinks sitting next to each other means something, I dunno. You know I'm not trying to mess with you and Blaine, right? I  _know_ you guys are nuts about each other, I'm not just hanging around waiting for a chance or anything. I meant it when I said I was okay with being friends, and you've been such a good friend to me, and  _Blaine's_  been a great friend to me, too, and I don't ever wanna do anything to hurt either one of you. I'm sorry about the movie nights, I know maybe the way we act is a little weird but you never seemed to mind and Blaine never does and I just…I…" Dave seemed to realize he'd been babbling far too honestly for far too long, and trailed off into silence.

"Wow," Kurt said after a very awkward pause. "Okay. Is there more?"

"God. No. I think I nailed the coffin shut already, anything else would just be overkill."

"Coffin. Overkill. Funny."

"Kuuuurt," Dave groaned. "How are you making jokes? I just made an idiot out of myself. A creepy, pathetic idiot. I'm just gonna go—"

"Don't go," Kurt said softly. He sighed. "Look. Santana's not…she's not  _entirely_ off-base, is she? I mean, we get along, don't we? We have fun together. And we  _have_ been kind of…um…you know…"  _Please tell me I haven't been making all this up in my head._

"Cuddly?" Dave said, immediately wishing he could bite off his own tongue. Kurt just laughed, however.

"Yes, that."

"Well, yeah…but you're with Blaine. You  _like_  Blaine. I'm just a third wheel."  _Big, lumpy extra wheel making everything difficult._

"You are  _not._ You are never a third wheel. You—" A voice interrupted in the background, sounding exasperated.

"Crap," Kurt muttered.

"Be right there," he said more loudly, presumably to the voice. "Hey, Dave? I need to get back to work before my dad fires me."

Dave's heart sank. He wasn't sure how much more of this push-and-pull he could take, but he tried to keep the strain out of his voice.

"He'd fire his own son?"

"Oh, absolutely. But he always re-hires me, no worries. Anyway, can…can you still come over early on Saturday? We  _do_ need to try to talk things out." Dave felt his stomach twist vaguely toward the shape of the knot it would undoubtedly be by Saturday evening.  _If you're going to tell me to get lost, I wish you'd just do it and get it over with._

"Yeah," he said, managing to sound more or less normal. "See you then."

* * *

_**Kurt and Blaine** _

Kurt has no idea how to do this, and he's scared. He knows all about rejection from the receiving end, and it's not something he would ever wish on someone else, especially not someone he loves as much as Blaine. He  _does_  love Blaine…but it's not what he thought it was.

He's confused, and terrified. What if he's making a mistake? What if Blaine is it and he's just missing it because he suddenly has another option? What if he and Blaine can never move past this to be friends? He doesn't know what he'll do if he loses Blaine completely. That scares him more than anything, more than the idea of not being able to touch him or kiss him anymore, or call him "boyfriend." All of that is really secondary to the plain reality of  _Blaine_ in his life, Blaine there to talk to and laugh with.

He tries to compare this in his head with the idea of losing Dave. He runs over all the things that make him Dave: his laugh, his strange love of math, his habit of singing along quietly when there's music on and he thinks no one is listening. Kurt remembers the feeling of Dave's arms wrapped around him, the sense of safety and warmth, the electricity of kissing him.

The thought of Dave not in his life terrifies him just as much as the thought of losing Blaine. Losing all the rest of it, though? The kisses and touches, the casual intimacies? With Blaine it's a dull ache, a sense of  _this used to be mine and I feel like it should be still._ With Dave, however, the ache is to the bone, like a deep-tissue bruise being continually prodded. Somehow, after everything and over a series of moments when Kurt's guard was down, Dave became important to him.  _So_ important. How did he not see it happening? There's a need there, and it turns his stomach so hard he has to curl up into a ball just to give his arms something to hold onto until the feeling passes.

In the end, that's what convinces him this is the right decision, but it doesn't take away the fear. When the doorbell rings, Kurt moves to his front door with legs like lead, and his anxiety must show on his face, because as soon as Blaine sees him he wraps him in a hug. Kurt buries his face into Blaine's shoulder, taking a deep, guilty breath and preparing himself for the coming break. He can't, he knows he can't, but he has to. Even if nothing ever happens with Dave, Kurt knows how  _he_ feels, and knowing that…nothing else is really fair. He pulls back from Blaine's embrace and looks him in the eyes, heart cracking at the concern he sees.

"Kurt? Is everything all right?"

* * *

_**Blaine and Dave** _

_Dave? Can we talk? – Blaine M. Anderson_

_M? What's the M stand for? – D._

_Michael. Anyway, are you busy? – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Not really. What's up? – D._

_Kurt broke up with me. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_WHAT? – D._

_Yeah. Just now. I'm in Lima, just left Kurt's. My ex-boyfriend. Wow. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Okay, just stay there. I'll come get you. – D._

_That's really not necessary. I just wanted to tell someone, weirdly enough. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Are you okay? – D._

_My boyfriend just broke up with me, Dave. But sure, of course. I'm just peachy. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Fine, stupid question. Sorry. Want to get coffee? – D._

_I usually get coffee with Kurt. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Want to get ice cream? – D._

_I'm lactose intolerant. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Oh. I didn't know that. Sorry. – D._

_It's fine. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_You wanna get a drink? – D._

_God yes. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Okay, meet you at Scandals? – D._

_See you there. Thanks, Dave. – Blaine M. Anderson_

_Anytime. – D._

* * *

**_Dave and Kurt_ **

_So…I just took Blaine home. – D._

_He was pretty messed up. – D._

_He already misses you. – D._

_Kurt? – D._

_I don't want to talk about this right now, if that's all right with you. – Kurt_

_Okay. Fine. You know my number. – D._

_Still coming over early on Saturday? We could talk then. – Kurt_

_Sure. Are you gonna be okay? – D._

_Thanks for asking. I'll be fine. It just needed to happen. – Kurt_

_Okay? – D._

_Saturday. Goodnight, David. – Kurt_

_Night Kurt. – D._


	5. Imperfect

When Dave got to Kurt's house the driveway was empty, except for Kurt's black navigator. He'd expected as much, but that didn't loosen the knot in his stomach. He wasn't sure he could take Kurt's presence diluted by a room full of people right now, much less Kurt all by himself. Every moment they spent near each other felt like playing hopscotch in a mine field: sooner or later one of them was going to lose a limb.

Under all the trepidation, too, was a steadily growing, gnawing feeling of guilt.

The feeling wasn't  _new,_ precisely. He'd been experiencing some semblance of it all summer, ever since the first time Kurt leaned against him on the couch. It had been easy to push it aside before, though, because he could honestly say it stemmed mostly from his own feelings, and not because he was actually  _doing_ anything wrong.

Now his guilt had a definite shape, and a face. It only made it worse that the face was someone he knew and cared about. The image of Blaine from Thursday night was burned into his mind, and he didn't know who he hated more at this moment: Kurt, Blaine, or himself. Maybe Santana, since it felt, in some surreal way, as if her words had brought all of his secret wants and fears to horrible life right in front of him.

Blaine wasn't a loud crier, the way Dave's imagination had supplied. He didn't sob or wail dramatically, or curse, or punch things, or even ask  _why_. Dave wished to God he  _had_ done any of those things, because those were reactions he could relate to and deal with. What Blaine actually did was sit very quietly at the bar nursing the same beer for a little over three hours, shoulders hunched and head down, eyes staring at nothing. Tears accumulated on his lashes slowly, and only fell every other time he blinked. It was the saddest thing Dave had ever seen, and it was terrifying. Blaine was the most expressive person Dave knew, and he was in so much pain that he  _couldn't_ express it.

Dave wanted nothing more than to make it stop, and he didn't know how. Hell, who was he kidding? He was at least part of the reason it was happening in the first place.

Dave was no longer in the habit of lying to himself: he'd had a crush on Kurt since before he'd been able to admit that he was gay. Kurt's kindness and patience had only served to fan the flames, and actually getting to know Kurt had sealed the deal beyond hope. Still, aside from that fever-dream week before Valentine's Day, when he thought Kurt was single and saw him enjoying all the cards and attention, Dave had never seriously entertained the idea of being able to act on his feelings. Whatever faint hope he'd had faded the longer he watched Kurt and Blaine together. It was the strangest kind of aching gladness, to be happy for your friends' happiness even as it constantly reminded you of things you wanted and couldn't have.

That didn't stop him from fantasizing, on occasion, what it would be like to see Kurt look at him the way he looked at Blaine, or to be able to reach out and take his hand at any moment, just for the hell of it. He didn't stop daydreaming about how it would feel to kiss Kurt again—a real kiss this time, wanted and reciprocated, both their hearts pounding like before, but not out of fear. He didn't stop imagining a day when he would introduce Kurt to his dad— _not_  his mom, just his dad—as his first boyfriend. However much he cared about Blaine, that affection never stopped Dave's heart from beating faster whenever Kurt turned to him for comfort. It also didn't stop his heart from soaring into the stratosphere when Kurt's lips were finally— _finally_ —on his again.

The reality was so much less rosy than the fantasy, though. It hit him, hard and for the first time, that for anything real to happen between him and Kurt, Kurt and Blaine would have to be over, and for  _that_  to happen, Kurt and Blaine would have to hurt. Maybe he was an idiot, but he'd never seriously considered either of these things as real possibilities, so sue him if only  _now,_ when it was actually  _happening_ , did he see how one thing became a necessary result of all the others.

Watching Blaine suffer in silence for that seemingly endless three hours at Scandals, Dave started to really hate himself for the first time in months. And maybe, just maybe, he hated Kurt a little bit, too, because damn it, his thoughts were supposed to be harmless! He was supposed to want something he couldn't have, and watch his friends be happy. Anything more concrete happening was inconceivable. Kurt wasn't ever supposed to want him  _back_ , and he definitely wasn't ever supposed to break up with Blaine, because however much Dave might have daydreamed about having Kurt for a boyfriend, looking at the consequences of that becoming even a remote possibility was unbearable.

So Dave sat in his truck, staring at his hands on the steering wheel and trying to wrap his head around the situation he found himself in. His head wasn't cooperating; somehow, even through all the guilt he was feeling, he still  _wanted_ Kurt. Kurt, who curled up next to him every Saturday night, who sent him ridiculous text messages six or seven times a day…who kissed him, just a few short weeks ago, pressing close and holding on tight, seeming like something out of Dave's dreams. His lips still tingled just thinking about it.

 _Blaine is your friend, and he is_ miserable  _right now,_ Dave scolded himself.  _They just broke up, and all you can do is think about what this might mean for you and Kurt. Kurt probably doesn't even like you. He broke up with Blaine for some completely unrelated-to-you reason. He's told you before that you're not his type!_

 _But Kurt's inside waiting for you,_ another part of his brain whispered.  _Kurt broke up with his boyfriend. He had a reason. Is it so hard to believe, after everything that's happened this summer, that the reason could be you?_

If he were being honest with himself, a part of him didn't  _want_  to believe it. If Kurt felt the way Dave couldn't help hoping—wishing—he would, then Dave is just as responsible for that horrible, lost look in Blaine's eyes as Kurt is.

His phone buzzed.

_Are you going to sit outside all night? – Kurt_

_Maybe. It's nice out here. Thought I'd watch the sunset. – D._

_You're polluting the whole street with your exhaust fumes. Come inside. You can watch the sunset with me. – Kurt_

_Bossy. – D._

_You love it. – Kurt_

Dave stared down at the text and huffed an involuntary laugh.  _You have no idea ,_ he thought. He felt less ready than ever to face Kurt Hummel, and the weight of his guilt wasn't lessened even a little by the thrill of anticipation that ran through him at all the possibilities attached to watching the sunset with the boy he loved. The combination made him nauseous.

He got out of his truck and trudged up to Kurt's front door. Before he had a chance to take a deep breath, gather his courage, and raise his hand to knock, the door was open and Kurt was standing there looking up at him. Dave reflected briefly that life really was, above all things, monumentally unfair.

Kurt looked flushed and strangely breathless, as if some excitable momentum had carried him to the door, and he only let that first moment stretch for half a second before he reached out and let the same force pull Dave inside, door shutting behind them with a soft thud that nevertheless seemed to echo in Dave's ears.

"Hi," Kurt said simply, looking up at Dave with an emotion he recognized but was afraid to name. It was  _that_ look: the one he dreamed about, the one that was for Blaine.

"No one else is coming," Kurt said, and Dave swore he could feel his vision narrowing to a dimly-lit tunnel. "It's just us tonight."

 _Just us,_ his brain mimicked hazily.  _Oh God._ He took a step back, but that only put his back against the door and called attention to the fact that Kurt was standing close,  _far_ too close, and still holding one of Dave's hands tightly in both of his own. He started toward the living room, pulling Dave along with him and still looking at him in a way that made Dave's already addled head spin a little bit faster. He was trying to see it the way he'd fantasized about it: this perfect moment when he realized that Kurt actually  _did_ feel something for him, and he got everything he'd been dreaming of for as long as he'd known what he really wanted. Hell, longer.

The image wouldn't come. Everything he saw and felt was tangled up in its context. Kurt's hands on his were distorted by the memory of Blaine clutching one half-drunk beer. Kurt's eyes were only as warm and full as Blaine's were cold and empty. The faint inkling—growing stronger all the time—that Kurt actually  _felt_ something for him, that Kurt wanted to have something with him that wasn't restricted to two secretive hours every Saturday night, or even two weeks before he disappeared to New York, was snarled in the knowledge that Kurt and Blaine had something real, too, and that Dave had ruined it somehow. How much more would Blaine hurt when he found out that one of his best friends and his ex-boyfriend were suddenly a  _thing?_ Would he think they'd started it before he and Kurt had broken up? Would he be wrong?

The whole thing was tainted, and that's what finally did it for Dave. Abruptly, the voice in his head urging him to just go for it went quiet, and left him only with the voice screaming how _wrong_ everything in front of him was. Dave pulled back sharply, stopping Kurt's movement toward the couch and finally extracting his hand from Kurt's grasp.

"I can't," he said simply, forcing himself to look Kurt in the eyes and watch the warmth fade into confusion.

"What?" He seemed so honestly puzzled, but did he really not see? Dave tried to reign in his frustration as he began to explain.

" _We_ can't," he started. "You  _love_ Blaine. I know you do."

"I broke up with Blaine," Kurt said. His voice was neutral, but Dave saw the tightening of his eyes, and he knew the pain was there.

"Yeah, you  _just_ broke up with him, and you're not as okay with it as you're trying to seem. Whatever you think this is, I  _promise_ you it's not worth the risk of losing Blaine."

"I'm not going to lose Blaine," Kurt said tightly. "But can you please let me be the judge of what I want, and what I'm willing to risk to get it?"

" _No,"_ Dave said, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing when Kurt's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. His jaw clenched in a way Dave could only describe as mulish.  _Oh shit._

"No?" Kurt said, voice dripping with mock disbelief. "Well, by all means, Dave Karofsky, since I'm too stupid to know what's good for me or what I want, why don't you tell me what to do instead?"

"That's not—"

"Maybe you should start with Santana's argument, that it'll look like I'm just working my way through all the gay guys I know. Then there's Finn, who wants to know if I have some weird form of Stockholm Syndrome— _not_ that he actually knew the term—that makes me feel connected to you because you used to pick on me. Do you want to know what Rachel said, by any chance? Or Brittany? Because  _believe_ me, you're not the first person to stand there and tell me that I don't know what's good for me. So go ahead: amaze me. What incredible insight do you want to add to the veritable  _mountain_ of reasons I've already been given for why I'm being an idiot?"

Dave could only think of one. He should have been speechless, but there was still that one thing left in his head.

"Blaine."

"What about him?" Something about the flippant tone of Kurt's voice grated against Dave's nerves, and he felt a dangerous swell of frustration bubble to the surface. This time, he didn't even try to stop it.

"Well, since he's my  _friend,_ and since he's apparently the only person in the world trusting enough not to see what literally everyone else already knows, he called me the night you two broke up. You want to know what Blaine looked like? He looked  _sad,_ Kurt. Like his world had been pulled out from under him. He spent the entire night staring at the table and crying into half a beer."

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, looking pained, but Dave was on a roll and he couldn't stop. All the stress of the last few months—to say nothing of the last few days—was pouring out of him and he didn't even  _want_ to stop it, because in some painful, fucked-up way, it felt  _good._  It felt like drawing poison from a wound.

"It's worse than a break-up, Kurt. What we did to him is worse than doing it to anybody else, because Blaine  _trusted_ us. Blaine trusted us so much that he  _watched_  this happen and never thought, not even  _once,_ that this was gonna happen. Don't you see how that makes it so much worse?"

"Dave—"

"And not that it makes it better, but at least  _I'm_ an idiot with the emotional intelligence of a rock. I was dumb enough to play along with the whole thing, because I was willing to take whatever I could get, because I'm so  _fucking_ in love with you that I can barely stand it. What's your excuse, huh?"

"I—"

"Do you actually care how many people are getting hurt while you're figuring out what you want—"

"Dave!"

"—or did you just enjoy watching both of us pine after you while you were pulling the strings?"

Dave stopped, out of breath and, for the moment, out of anger. His whole body sagged in relief: every wish, every dark thought and fear of the last few months, it was all out of him now. It was in the air between them now, and Kurt…

Kurt looked stricken. He just stared at Dave in silence for a very long minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and full of pain.

"Is that really what you think of me?"

Dave immediately wished he could bite his own tongue all the way off and throw it out the window.

"Do you really think I don't care about you, that I'm the kind of person who enjoys seeing others hurt on my account? Do you think I like hurting Blaine? I  _love_ Blaine. He's my best friend, and I've spent almost two years dating him. He may or may not ever speak to me again, and you have the nerve to imply that I'm just having  _fun_ with all of this? I'm not having fun, Dave! I hate this!"

The hurt on Kurt's face had faded steadily into anger, until he was in Dave's face and screaming. Dave had only ever seen Kurt lose control like this once before. Strangely enough, kissing him was the last thing Dave felt like doing this time. All he really wanted to do was yell back, because he was so fucking  _angry._ Everything that had been good at the beginning of summer was ruined again, and this time it wasn't even all his own fault, and he had no idea how to fix it. So he yelled.

"I don't know  _what_ to think, Kurt! You  _knew_ how I felt about you. How could you not? I've been a wreck all summer, are you really going to tell me you didn't see that? And if you love Blaine and you didn't want to hurt him, then why the  _hell_ did you break up with him?"

"Because I think I love you!"

Time didn't stop, but Dave sure as hell felt like it did. Kurt was still in his face, breathing heavily and flushed with both his anger and the realization of what he had just said. His expression was melting into something like mortification, and it was taking all of Dave's anger with it. When he made to pull away, Dave stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"You…I'm sorry… _what?_ "

"I…I…" Kurt seemed unable to complete the sentence again.

"You think you—" He didn't dare to finish that sentence. It felt like finishing it would shatter something, or fuse something together, or take something away that he would never get back.

"Yeah," Kurt breathed, and there it went, whatever it was. It was gone. "I think I do. And I suddenly know how you must've felt in that gorilla suit. Is it warm in here?"

Dave snorted at that. He couldn't help it.

"Oh my God." Kurt smacked him gently on the shoulder. "Stop! You can't laugh! We're not supposed to be laughing!" That just made Dave laugh harder, and then Kurt lost his own battle and dissolved into giggles as well, laughing until his sides ached and he had to lean against Dave for support. Dave's arms came up automatically and held him there, and Kurt felt that pulse of _warm-safe-happy-loved._ As their giggles subsided, Kurt looked up at Dave with cautious eyes, and the last traces of the smile faded from his face.

Nothing was substantially different. A few angry, honest words and some laughter didn't change the fact that they had betrayed their friend, and that seeing them together was going to hurt him even more. It wasn't  _okay,_ either. But looking down at Kurt in his arms, Dave wondered if there was really anything else he could do. Sure, he could say no and walk away, but would that make him any less hopelessly in love with the boy in front of him? No. Would that keep Blaine from knowing the truth? Knowing Santana, probably not. The truth was, staying away from Kurt wouldn't save Blaine any pain at all. It would just be a lie to make himself feel better about being one of the causes of that pain.

Dave Karofsky was much more of an honesty kind of person these days.

"I love you," he breathed. The smile Kurt gave him was tentative, but it grew quickly into something lovely and real that covered his whole face and lit it up from the inside out.

"I knew it," Kurt quipped. "Be honest. You've been nuts about me since the first time you kissed me." And  _wow,_ hearing Kurt make a joke about that day was…weird. But good.  _It happened, but it doesn't matter anymore._  The realization made him feel light all over in spite of the guilt still weighing heavily on him.

"Longer than that," he said honestly. "I think I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you making goo-goo eyes at Finn."

"First of all,  _ew,_ can we  _never_ bring that misguided period of my life up again, and secondly, _goo-goo eyes?_ Really?"

"Yup. Big, beautiful puppy eyes. It was ridiculous, and I was  _jealous._ " Kurt laughed softly.

"That must have been so confusing for you," he said, and although his tone was meant to be teasing, it came across, more than anything, as sympathetic. Dave didn't bother to confirm it; he just held Kurt a little bit tighter and looked down into his eyes some more, some detached part of his brain marveling that he could feel this good and this bad at the same damn time. His emotional intelligence might be lacking, but clearly his capacity to feel things was overdeveloped.

Neither one was sure how long they spent standing there, just holding on and taking one another in, but at some point the air between them changed. It was Kurt's fault, Dave was sure of it; the change came after a split second during which Kurt's eyes left Dave's and flickered down to his mouth, then back up.

Kurt wanted to kiss Dave so badly he could almost taste it. And that would be the point of no return, somehow he knew.  _Well, you have nothing left to lose, Hummel. It's now or never._ He slid his arms up and around Dave's neck and leaned in slowly, eyes never leaving Dave's.

Just before their lips touched, Dave spoke.

"You know…if I let you kiss me, that'll make me the world's most horrible friend."

Kurt pulled back just a bit.

"Mhmm, and I'll be the town harlot" he joked softly. "Chances are our movie nights will get pretty awkward."

"You're leaving for New York in a couple weeks, too," Dave went on, voicing one of the little nagging fears Santana had brought up for him. "Much as I might deserve it, I don't want to get hurt."

"Hey, none of that," Kurt scolded gently, tightening his arms around Dave's neck. "I don't want to hurt you, David."

"We didn't want to hurt Blaine, either…"

"No, we didn't. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to kiss you."

"So…how do we accomplish one and avoid the other?"

"Maybe we can't. Maybe people who love each other hurt one another sometimes, even if they try their hardest not to," Kurt said softly, but his eyes were now focused on Dave's mouth. Dave's next words were so soft Kurt barely heard them, and his voice trembled just the tiniest bit with the fear Kurt could feel screaming in his own head. It was telling him to pull away, to run back to Blaine and what was safe and familiar, what had worked up until now. This was dangerous, and they both knew it.

"So what do we do now?"

Kurt leaned in again, and this time Dave didn't stop him. It wasn't a perfect kiss, not the way Disney movies depict them anyway. It was hesitant, far from guilt-free, and full of all the jokes, mistakes, and moments—good and bad—between them. It wasn't the end of a fairytale, and it certainly created more problems than it solved. Even so, Dave thought it might be worth all the bitterness in the world to gain this moment of quiet, imperfect sweetness.

Then Kurt turned him around, pushed him down onto the couch, crawled into his lap…and for a little while, Dave had no more coherent thoughts.


End file.
